Quite a Familiar Fable
by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle
Summary: Victorian AU, two shot. Inspired by two songs from the musical "Children of Eden." Angsty first act, fluffy second act, Sherlolly from beginning to end!
1. A Piece of Eight

**A/N: **_So, this will be a two-shot in two acts. Each act is named after and inspired by a song from the fantastic Stephen Schwartz musical "Children of Eden." I was listening to it not too long ago, and when I heard this first song - "A Piece of Eight" - I thought that this is something that Sherlock would do (always a love for the dramatic). Listen to the song, which I'm sure you'll like, and you'll enjoy this story a whole lot more! Now go listen to it, read this, and enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Act I: A Piece of Eight<strong>

All throughout the Holmes Manor on the edge of London, there existed a high, almost tangible, air of excitement. Preparations were underway for a family dinner, and the reason for it provided the mood of those in the household.

The only person in the manor that did not share in the excitement was a housemaid, a petite young woman of about one-and-twenty years. The first impression one would get of her would be of a doe: chestnut brown hair, large brown eyes, elfin features, tiny hands, and a small mouth that was usually kept respectfully shut. Her personality and demeanor only added to that, because both were ideal for a servant: quiet, polite, hard-working, efficient, and compassionate.

So, even though the news that was causing such excitement both upstairs and downstairs caused her heart to feel like a lead weight in her chest, she kept calm and carried on as if it were just any other day. She kept quietly to herself, going about her daily task with the same efficiency and dedication that she always did.

As she was crossing the front hall, her hands holding a small tub of silver polish, she crossed paths with Lord Holmes, the patriarch and head of the family. When he spotted Molly, he beamed and called her to him. "What a lovely day it is, Molly! When you lay the table this evening, remember that there will be, not seven, but eight!"

With that, he patted Molly's shoulder amicably and continued on his way. Molly had thankfully managed to give him a small smile, but it dropped once he was gone, her heart even heavier. With renewed determination, Molly continued on her way with her silver polish.

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><p>Several hours later, Molly was finishing up in the dining room. All of the plates and silverware had been laid out elegantly, the napkins folded prettily at each setting, and now Molly was lighting the candles that would light up the room. As she finished, one of the dining room doors opened and in walked the young man who held her heart.<p>

Twenty-two-year-old Sherlock Holmes was the second and youngest son of Lord and Lady Holmes, and a more strange and beautiful being Molly had never come across in her life. She had known him her whole life, both being born into the manor, him upstairs and her downstairs. As children, they had been playmates, since his brother Mycroft was older by seven years and had little patience for what he called "immature activities."

"Ah, Molly!" Sherlock said, a pleased smile on his normally impassive face. "The table looks lovely, as always."

The smile and the compliment caused Molly's heart to flutter; both were rarities for the younger Holmes – genuine ones, at least. "Thank you, Master Holmes," she said, almost squeaking.

He continued. "Glad that you have remembered the extra place, since we are adding a new addition to the family tonight!"

Molly's fluttering heart dropped in her chest, but she refused to show anything beyond her mask of polite pleasantness. "Of course, Master Holmes. And may I offer you my congratulations, sir."

His beautiful aquamarine eyes became softer, as did his beaming smile. "Thank you, Molly. That means the most coming from you." He took a step towards her. "I would like for you to serve us tonight. Would you, please?"

He asked so politely – two words that usually were not associated with him – and looked so...adorably beautiful in his asking, Molly was sure that it was physically impossible for her to refuse. She bobbed a little curtsey, if only to gain her breath back, and dutifully replied: "Of course, Master Holmes, whatever you wish. It is, after all, your special day."

His smile, which had not left his face since coming into the dining room, became suddenly somewhat mysterious, and his eyes had a twinkle that Molly could not interpret. "Nearly right, Molly, nearly right." He gave her a tiny bow and then was gone, leaving poor Molly both confused and with her heart heavier than ever.

Blinking harshly, Molly shook herself and turned back to her task of candle-lighting. _He was never yours to lose, you stupid girl, _the housemaid silently berated herself. _Your own feelings don't matter right now. See how happy everyone is, especially him! And isn't that what matters most? So just do your duties, smile at the official announcement, and wish him and his…bride…Godspeed._

She finished this sad train of thought how she had finished it for years: _Father, give me strength…_She'd already lost the man she loved most in her life – her father – when she was thirteen; her mother had died long ago, when bringing her into the world, so Molly had no memories of her. Now she was losing the man she loved most in a completely different way…and it didn't hurt any less this time. In fact it hurt more now, because at least her father had loved her equally as much as she loved him…With Master Sherlock, she didn't even count.

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><p>Molly was ready and waiting with the wine when the family entered the dining room in pairs. They had first all gathered in the front hall to chat and catch up.<p>

First came Lord and Lady Holmes, who looked ecstatic and excited. What an elegant couple they were, and so much in love even after thirty years of marriage! Molly had always had great respect (and envy) for that, as well as great love for them. They had always treated her kindly, though she was of the servant class. When her father, their head gardener, had passed away from scarlet fever, they had immediately taken her in to be trained as a housemaid. She was always allowed the day off on her birthday and the anniversary of her father's death, and they could always spare her a kind word when they saw her. Though they were her employers in the eyes of the world, Molly felt blessed that their relationship was not merely as cold as that.

When the pair of them saw her, they both smiled at her and spoke to her. "Good evening, Molly!" greeted Lord Holmes jovially.

"What a happy day it is!" exclaimed Lady Holmes.

Molly managed a smile as she curtseyed to them.

The second couple to enter soon after was Mycroft Holmes, the eldest son, with his wife, Anthea. The heir to the Holmes title and estate held a not-so-minor position in the British government, and was always the picture of cold dignity. Of all of the Holmes family, Molly truly felt like merely an employee with him. He was never unkind or cruel to her, but he'd also never looked past her title in what would one day be his household. Nevertheless, there were times when Molly did not like him, but it was never because of the way he treated her. It always had to do with the times when Mycroft would look down his nose at his little brother, especially when he used cutting words that he knew would hit Sherlock's nerves (much more sensitive than most people believed).

His wife of two years, a dark beauty who was also in the second trimester of pregnancy, rarely said more than a few words (at least while Molly was there), but she always spared Molly a kind smile or word. The happy wife gave Molly one of those soft smiles as they walked past her to their seats. Mycroft didn't acknowledge her at all, but that never bothered Molly. After all, this wasn't the Holmes son that had captured her heart. So she bobbed a perfect curtsey to them without a problem.

The third couple to enter the room were not members of the Holmes family, but they may as well be. Twenty-six-year-old John Watson – well, Dr. John Watson now, since both he and Sherlock had just finished their schooling – was the best friend of Sherlock Holmes, having roomed with him at 221B Baker Street while he went to medical school and Sherlock to university. He was also Sherlock's partner whenever Sherlock was able to help out on a case that Scotland Yard was stumped on. On his arm was a pretty blonde governess named Mary Morstan, to whom John had recently become engaged. Molly knew little about her beyond the fact that she had been at the center of their last big case. It had thankfully been a success in two ways: it was solved by Sherlock and John found the love of his life.

Both acknowledged her as they entered, Mary with a kind smile and John with a kind, "Evening, Molly, nice to see you."

"You too, Dr. Watson," said Molly, bobbing a third curtsey. John's chest proudly puffed out a bit at his new title that he had more than rightly earned, and Mary squeezed his arm in equal pride.

Finally, the last to enter was Sherlock, who gave Molly that same mysterious, excited smile that he had earlier in the day. Blushing, Molly gave her last curtsey, and only then noticed that Sherlock had entered unaccompanied. _Where is his bride-to-be?_ Molly wondered. But she couldn't wonder long, for soon everyone was seated, and that was her cue to serve the wine, which she did as every servant should: quietly, quickly, and without a hitch.

Once her task was done and she had taken a step back from the table, Lord Holmes stood up from his chair with his now-full glass in hand. "A toast is in order now," he said from head of the table. He and his wife exchanged a smile from opposite ends of the table before he spoke again to all of them. "For this family has many reasons to celebrate. The summer is about to start, for one. Also, a grandchild that is on the way and will be with us before winter comes." He raised his glass to Mycroft and Anthea, who exchanged a look that contained more feeling than Molly sometimes thought Mycroft capable of.

Lord Holmes then turned to John and Mary. "To our recent graduates and soon-to-be-husbands! John, your title of doctor is truly well-deserved, and I've no doubt that the lives you will save shall be many. We are all glad that you have found Mary, who is truly worthy of you, and we look forward to your upcoming wedding before you ship out."

John nodded humbly and squeezed Mary's hand under the table. Molly knew that he wanted to follow his father's footsteps into the army, but as a doctor instead of a soldier. Molly could not think of an occupation that John would be more perfect for, but she worried for the people he would leave behind. Not only Mary, but Sherlock as well. John was his best, and possibly only (she did not count), friend, something he'd never had in his life before (again, she did not count). She prayed that Sherlock would be alright, now that he would be on his own.

Finally, Lord Holmes turned to his younger son with a proud smile. "And finally, to our graduate chemist, top of his class, getting such a degree years early than most men would. Not only that, but soon to be the finest detective that London has ever seen! Now that Scotland Yard have seen what a gift you are, your lifelong dream is very close to becoming a reality. And very well-deserved, my son. Your mother and I are very proud."

With tears in her eyes, Molly listened to the words she would gladly have spoken to Sherlock herself (if she had the right). She could only see the back of his head, shoulders, and chair from where she stood, but she could see in the straightening of his shoulders how much it meant to him to hear those words. Though Sherlock often exuded an air of nonchalance, of not caring what others thought of him, Molly knew that he cared very much what the very few he held in his heart thought of and felt for him.

_You see, Sherlock? _Molly thought, though knowing that he couldn't hear her. _You truly are as extraordinary and loved as you've always wanted to be._

"And," concluded Lord Holmes. "Needless to say, we were all _quite_ surprised at the news you gave us this morning: that you have found a lady that you love and wish to marry! I won't deny it, Sherlock: your mother and I doubted that this day would ever come, but we are no less happy for you! And we hope that we will see her…um…_soon_." He finished somewhat awkwardly, for everyone's eyes had fallen on the still-empty extra place beside Sherlock.

But Sherlock did not appear at all ruffled or anxious. He replied easily, "Do not worry, Father, she will be here." He patted the place next to him.

Since Sherlock did not appear at all worried, everybody relaxed and raised their glasses to conclude the toast jovially. With that, Molly took her cue and began to serve the meal.

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><p>Nearly an hour later, Sherlock's mysterious bride had yet to arrive. The starting salad course passed in pleasant conversation, but everybody remained on alert for an arrival. The soup was consumed in even more tension, the waiting becoming somewhat impatient for almost everybody. Only Sherlock seemed to remain completely at ease and relaxed.<p>

Finally, just after Molly had finished serving the main course, Lord Holmes looked to his younger son with a worried expression. "My son, I fear something may have happened. Surely she would have come by now."

Then, Sherlock surprised everybody with his response: he laughed, laughed some more, and told them all: "She's here!"

Molly, who had been piling up the now empty soup bowls to take down to the kitchens, froze in surprise and complete confusion. She was very tempted to turn around to see just what was going on, but remembering that this was none of her affair, kept her back to the family and face to her work. Her confusion only rose when she heard a chair being pushed back, footsteps approaching her, and a few soft gasps. She even heard Mycroft mutter a soft, "Oh, dear lord…"

Then, hands that could only be Sherlock's appeared in her view, taking the bowls from her hands, setting them down, and then cradling her own hands with them. She could now feel how close he was standing beside her, his warmth seeming to radiate from him. Now thoroughly confused and quite warm, Molly raised her eyes from their hands to his face.

Her breath caught in her throat, and Molly could have sworn that her pounding heart had stopped. Never before had Sherlock – _anybody _– looked at her like that.

"Come and join the table, Molly, right by me," he said, his deep voice rich and soft, just like the expression in his eyes. "Because it's _you _I love best in all the world, and I want you for my bride."

Molly was one hundred percent certain that, were it not for his intense gaze holding her own, she would have fainted dead away.

Keeping one of Molly's hands securely in his own, Sherlock led her to the table without hesitation. Molly, who had gone into shock (and quite convinced that one of her more outlandish daydreams had taken over her brain), blindly allowed herself to be led. The sound of a spoon falling to the table and another falling to the floor made her jump a bit. The perpetrators – John and Mary – were staring at them in complete and undisguised shock. Mycroft did not look shocked, per se, but more exasperated, his eyes on his little brother. Anthea appeared the most composed of the younger four still at the table, and while there was certainly surprise in her eyes, it was a happy kind.

Lord Holmes had gotten up from his chair and held out his hand, looking pale in his shock. "Sherlock, son, wait!"

The two young people stopped before the table.

Lady Holmes, who was actually shaking in her shock, could barely get her words out, her usually elegant throaty voice high-pitched. "What is – William Sherlock Scott Holmes what – is this some kind of – what are you th–, are you playing a joke?!"

Sherlock, his hand still holding Molly's, looked quite affronted. "Of course not, Mummy! I am being perfectly serious! This is the woman I intend to marry."

Lady Holmes's gaze turned to Molly, and went from shocked to furious. "And just how long has this been going on in my home?" she growled.

"Mummy, how dare you!" Sherlock snarled, his grip on Molly's hand now very tight in his anger.

"Alright, let's everybody calm down," said Lord Holmes, both hands raised now in order to calm the situation (he hated confrontation). "Let's all sit down and discuss this, please."

"Of course nothing untoward has been going on, Mummy," said Mycroft calmly, still looking at his brother in annoyed exasperation. "Look how shocked the little maid is! You know how Sherlock has an unhealthy flair for the dramatic. I imagine he thought this the perfect romantic gesture, considering how long she's been pathetically infatuated with him like that dumb dog that used to shadow him before it died."

Poor Molly finally felt herself come out of shock and crash to reality. The words and implications that had been spoken in the last minute felt like stabs straight to the gut: _a joke being played…untoward behavior between herself and Sherlock…pathetically infatuated…no better than a dog…_

Her face and eyes burning in humiliation, she managed to choke out a tiny, "Please excuse me," before her throat closed up. With that, she tore her hand from Sherlock's and ran from the room. She thought she heard someone, probably Sherlock, call after her, but she didn't stop or care.

All Molly cared about now, as the first tears fell from her eyes, was to get as far away and alone as possible.

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><p><strong><em>To be continued...<em>**


	2. In Whatever Time We Have

**A/N: **_So, here is the second and final part. The title is taken from the same musical, a beautiful song called "In Whatever Time We Have" - please listen to that one too. I think it's one of the most beautiful love songs written for the stage._

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><p><strong>Act II: In Whatever Time We Have<strong>

Albert Hooper, Molly's father, had been the head gardener of the Holmes' family; her mother, Margaret, had been the head housemaid. Within a year of their happy marriage, their daughter had been born, and unfortunately, that had brought about Margaret's death. Albert had named his daughter both after his late wife and his favorite flower: Margaret Rose. But she had always been Molly to him and everybody, for the simple fact that the nickname suited her perfectly.

Twenty-one-year-old Molly Rose Hooper – orphan, housemaid, and completely humiliated – now sat close to the rose bushes in the garden. It was quite dark out now, and Molly had no idea how long she'd been sitting out here, nor did she really care. The late spring night was clear and quiet, so her quiet weeping was quite audible, much as she tried to keep it silent. She tried to stop by taking deep breaths, filling her head with the beautiful scent of the roses that her father loved so much. But it only made her miss him more, for if ever there was a time when poor Molly needed her father, the one person she had known who loved her unconditionally and completely, it was right now.

The poor girl couldn't – truly just _couldn't_ – comprehend what had just happened! It must have been Sherlock's idea of a joke, as his mother had stated so furiously. Or, more plausibly, it was Sherlock's way of retaliating against his parents' constant pleadings and suggestions for finding a wife of his own, which had certainly grown exponentially since Mycroft had found Anthea. Well, this was certainly a response that would quiet them for a while: _"Fine, you want me to get married? I'll marry the maid and have done with it. And why not? I'm getting married, so what's the problem?"_

Molly gasped when she remembered her own behavior, running off like that without taking down the soup things and everything! And after the terrible joke Sherlock had just played, would the Holmes's even want her working here anymore, especially if Lady Holmes really believed that she'd been inappropriate with her son?_ Am I going to lose job, my home, everything I know and love?_

Her sobs came back, and she bent forward so low that her face was nearly touching the grass.

"Molly?"

The voice was so soft, Molly almost didn't hear it. But since it was Sherlock, and her body always seemed to sense whenever he came near her, Molly could hear how nervous and worried his deep voice was. Slowly, Molly straightened herself, wiped her cheeks, and turned her head. It was indeed Sherlock; he was standing a safe distance from her, looking as lost and scared as she felt inside.

But Molly, upon seeing him again, remembered in terrible detail what had just happened, and wanted nothing more than to erase it all. She stood up as quickly as she could, brushing down the front of her black maid's uniform. "Oh, please excuse me, Master Holmes," she said, keeping her eyes on the ground and trying to bring them back to where they were before this evening. "I know you asked me specifically to serve the meal, and it was terribly unprofessional for me to leave like that. I'll just go back inside and, um, make my apologies to everybody else."

She made to walk past him, but he blocked her way; she nearly bumped into him, since she kept her head down. "Molly, wait, there's no need for that. I don't want you to be merely my maid anymore."

Molly shut her eyes tightly, her worst fear coming true. "Oh…of course, Master Holmes. I'll gather my things and be gone by the morning."

She tried to move past him again, but now he stopped her by taking her shoulders in his hands. "_No_, Molly, don't go!"

_"Then what do you want from me?!" _cried out Molly in complete anguish, finally having reached her breaking point. Her sobs came back with a new violence, and she tried without success to get away from Sherlock. But he wouldn't let her, and before she knew it, she was crying into his chest, his arms holding her tightly to him. This had a marvelous effect on calming her down eventually, hearing his heart beating and feeling his warmth around her. The words he spoke against her maid's cap helped, too.

"Oh, Molly, I'm sorry…They were right, I've gone about this all wrong…please don't leave, stay here…I never meant to hurt you like this…please let me explain myself…"

He was so warm and he smelled so nice. Now that her sobs had calmed, Molly noticed (and appreciated) those things. However, they also caused her to remember the circumstances of the situation, and she knew that she needed to be strong now. He wanted to talk, so she would listen – but she wouldn't allow herself to fall blindly into his will, whatever that may be.

So, with determination, Molly separated herself from Sherlock and backed away from him. She ignored the pained look on his face, and sat back down beside the rose bushes, and then indicated the empty space before her on the grass. If he wanted to explain himself, he would do it in _her _comfort zone: on level ground (literally) with her, and beside the flowers that reminded her that her parents' were still with her.

Thankfully, Sherlock raised no objection, and immediately sat down before her on the grass. Molly kept her hands tightly folded on her lap, reminding herself to keep calm now and hear him out; no matter how terrible it might be, the truth would always be better than lies. But Sherlock seemed to be having trouble saying anything, truth or lie. He opened his mouth and closed it in frustration several times, even running his mop of black curls before finally finding words to say.

"Molly…I meant what I said to you," he said, his eyes pleading with her to believe him. "I would say it again now if you would believe me, or keep saying it until you believe me. I want to tell you everything…but I find it difficult to know where to start."

Molly looked down at her hands, his words tugging at her heartstrings. The fact that Sherlock Holmes was admitting to finding something difficult – about as rare an occurrence as snow in August – made her believe that he was not being completely dishonest. It at least gave her the courage to give him a helping hand. "Well…could you please tell me how long I've…been out here?"

"Nearly two hours," Sherlock answered promptly, visibly relaxing at having a place to start. "I tried to run after you right away, but John stopped me while my father said that you would never be so foolish as to leave the manor completely, no matter the state you were in."

Hearing this, Molly couldn't help but feel relieved that Lord Holmes did not think the worst of her after what had just happened. She cared greatly for the dear man, for he had the same personality as her own father.

Sherlock continued. "Anthea then took Mycroft up to bed, since he certainly seemed cranky at me for interrupting dinner before dessert came out." He spoke about his brother with a very sour and furious look on his face, no doubt recalling the words his brother had spoken that had caused Molly to run off. "Mary took my mother to her private parlor, no doubt to calm her down and talk some sense into her. My father and John sat me down at the table again, and helped me to see how I have gone about this entire business tonight all wrong."

Molly slowly nodded at his explanation, feeling brave enough to look him in the eyes again. "And would you repeat back to me…all of those ways now, please?" Of course she knew what those reasons were (at least she thought she did), but she needed to know that _he _knew.

Nodding, Sherlock rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward a bit. His gaze holding hers was intense, willing her to listen and believe him. "Well, first and most important, it was the element of surprise. I did not foresee the possible negative consequences of my actions. I felt sure that there would only be positive ones. After all, it would please my parents that I would be marrying; John and Mary would know I would not be left alone; and I thought that they would see, once I revealed that you were my intended, they would immediately see that this was the only but perfect solution for all of us!" His tone had become quite frustrated now, but he took a deep breath and continued more calmly. "However, I do realize now that the wiser course would have been to go about this in a more quiet way. I should have spoken to you privately first, and John was clear to emphasize that I should have _asked _rather than assumed you would agree."

Seeing Sherlock roll his eyes a bit at the end filled Molly with a sharp anger. Her hands clenched into fists on her lap, and she turned her gaze away from Sherlock and to the rose bush. Her tone was quiet but biting when she spoke. "Well, it doesn't surprise me that you could see this as an opportunity to give your family a good shock. I know how you hated it whenever your parents would tell you to find a wife, and I can see how this would be a good way to shut them up for a good while."

There was silence for a moment, and then Molly felt something warm touch her clenched fist. Looking down, she saw a pale, long-fingered, familiar hand touching her own. Immediately, she recoiled from his touch (or she forced herself to, since it felt so very nice and she did _not _want to distract herself from this situation), but she did meet his gaze again.

"Molly," said Sherlock, rubbing the tips of his fingers together as he brought it back to his lap. "No matter how much my parents like to needle me to find a wife, it is not a necessity for me to get married. Not being the eldest son makes it a choice for me rather than an obligation. And since my brother is happily married with a baby on the way, it only makes it even more of a choice. Yes, it annoyed me when my mother or father would badger me to get a wife, but those were mere insects that buzzed by my ears: easily temporary, unthreatening, and easy to ignore.

"So what good reason would I have to do this merely to shock them into silence? That's not why I did it. Molly, I meant every word I said."

His gaze was pleading, but Molly couldn't believe what he had just said. Tears filled her eyes as she shook her head and looked at the rosebush. "Is that it, then?" she asked very quietly. "There is no other reason you can think of where you went wrong?"

Sherlock hesitated before answering, seeming to think about it before speaking. "Well…no. I believe that everything can be rooted to what I have said. I am sure that you are offended that I did not speak to you in private first, or ask you at all, but I felt sure that, with the way you feel about me, there would be no need to ask."

_So he knows, has known how he felt about me, all along…just like everybody else…_Her humiliation returned a hundredfold, and her anger reached a boiling point. Quick as a shot, she was up on her feet; Sherlock, in his surprise, remained cross-legged on the ground. Because of their heights, it was usually Sherlock who towered over Molly. Now the tables had turned, and it was the maid who towered over her master.

"How can you be so incredibly stupid, Sherlock?" she nearly shouted.

Under normal circumstances, Molly would _never _speak to him like this. Being so outspoken to her employer – not to mention calling him by his Christian name – would get her dismissed without notice. But after what Sherlock had done at dinner, and him telling her that he did not want her to be his maid anymore, Molly felt that she had nothing left to lose now – she had already lost everything.

"You really can't think of anything else? It's as obvious as my love for you, which apparently everyone knows of and loves to laugh at! Fine, you really don't know? Here it is: _you don't love me. _I'm nothing more than your loyal maid, always there to clean up after you and be at the wrong end of your mood swings and cruel deductions. No wonder you just assumed that I would do whatever you wanted! Well, hear this, Sherlock Holmes: I made a promise to my father that if I married, it would be for no reason but love. That I would love him, and he would love me in return. So, in answer to your assumption, my answer is no. I don't care how rich your family is or how smart you are. I will not marry a man who doesn't love me, would never love me, thinks love is a chemical defect to the weak, and to whom I don't count at all!"

With that, Molly turned on her heel and made to walk away from him; she didn't even know where, as long as she could be alone. But, just as she had, Sherlock got up as fast as a shot, and before she could get five steps away from him, Sherlock was in front of her and holding her to him again.

"Let me go!" Molly cried, punching his chest and trying to pull away, hot tears pouring down her face again. "I'm not your slave or your dog that you can order about!"

"No, you're not, you are so much more," Sherlock breathed into her ear, his strong hold around her not breaking though his deep voice was. Molly had never heard that happen before, and it caused her to grow still though she did not yield to the embrace. He continued in that same voice, resting his temple against hers. "You're wrong, you know: you _do _count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you. But you are right, Molly: I _am _incredibly stupid to have made you believe you don't count to me, that you are not _everything _to me…"

When she felt something wet fall on her cheek, Molly pulled her head back to look at him; in his embrace she stayed. Her impossible suspicions were confirmed when she saw his face, and her heart, already so battered and bruised, slowly began to fill with hope. "I…Sherlock…I don't…what…" She could think of nothing to say, and rightly so – it was _he _who needed to explain.

But he didn't explain in response to her. At least, not with words. He lowered his head and kissed her lips.

A split second of shock, and then Molly was lost to it. She was filled with such warmth that she had never known. In romance and poetry books that she had flipped through in the manor's library, a kiss was always described as something earth-moving, sky-shattering, always accompanied with loud trumpets and stars exploding. There was that, too, but it was at a safe distance from this warmth that felt much more true. Lost in the feeling, she responded shyly, her fists on his chest unclenching until they rested over his beating heart.

Eventually, their lips parted for breath and their foreheads fell against each other. When Molly felt one of Sherlock's hands rest on her cheek, she opened her heavy-lidded eyes – feeling quite pleasantly dazed – to meet Sherlock's turquoise gaze again. He'd looked at her like this several times today – when he'd asked her to serve dinner, when he'd told everybody that he wanted her to be his bride – but now, standing this close to him, Molly could finally see what he had been trying to tell her today: "_It's you I love best in all the world"…"You are everything to me"…_And now he confirmed that with his next words, his voice rich and sincere.

"I know I said that love was a chemical defect to be found on the losing side, that it was nothing more than a weakness that blinded you. For a long time, I believed it. After Redbeard died, it was Mycroft who told me these things. I believed him because it made the pain of losing my closest companion easier to deal with and shut away, and easier to focus on my studies."

Molly nodded, remembering that terrible time. Sherlock had lost Redbeard the same year Molly had lost her father. The both of them had dealt with their grief by throwing themselves into study and work, and their relationship had changed from playmates to employer/employee.

Sherlock continued, his thumb caressing her cheek. "But everything's changed now. Mycroft, who is called 'The Ice Man' by most, is happily married, happy to throw away his old philosophy. It made me see how blessed my parents are to have each other, and watching John find Mary was the final step to opening my eyes to my own heart." He shut his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out that it was always yours, Molly…and I believe it always will be."

Molly's eyes were wide with shock. The hope in her heart was growing at a strong rate, but her mind was firm in keeping her cautious to these words she'd always dreamed of hearing but never believed she would. With a shuddering breath, Molly lowered her eyes to his cravat. "This is…so hard to believe…"

He gently raised her face with the hand still on her cheek. He pleaded now with his eyes and words. "Tell me why, Molly. Ask me anything you need to ask that will quell your doubts."

Molly gulped, knowing that this is what she needed to do. "Are you sure that this isn't because John is shipping out? That you just don't want to be alone?"

"I'm sure, Molly. Even with John overseas, I have my family and my work, and while I may sometimes annoy one and idolize the other, they would keep me more than busy. But isn't one reason for marriage companionship? In that way, I don't want to be alone, but only if it is with you. I think you feel the same, Molly. No one really wants to be alone, not even me."

Molly swallowed to get rid of the lump in her throat. "Why didn't you tell me? You say you knew how I felt, so what did you have to fear?"

Sherlock grimaced, and brought her head to rest on his chest again. He held her to him as if to draw strength from her. Molly's hands and forearms rested below her head, not quite ready to return the embrace until all of her questions were answered.

"I wanted to, Molly, many times…especially last Christmas when I…well, when that happened."

Both grimaced at the memory. Molly had worn her best clothes, had even curled her hair before pinning it up. She'd been about to give him his Christmas present before joining the rest of the staff downstairs for their own Christmas dinner, when he'd embarked on a particularly long and cruel deduction about her present and the appearance. The fact that it had drawn the wrong conclusion – that it had all been for the new footman, Tom, who always tried to flirt with Molly – didn't make it hurt Molly any less. When Sherlock had read the tag of the present, proving that it had all been for him, he'd sincerely apologized (a first for him) and even wished her a happy Christmas with a shy kiss on the cheek.

Sherlock continued: "At first, I thought that I didn't need to say it, that it was obvious how I felt. After all, you have always been the only member of staff that I allow in my rooms or near my things. I even trust you to help with my experiments, even cases when John couldn't be there. I thought that this was more than enough for anyone to see how much you count to me." He sighed into her hair. "But now I realized I was fooling myself. What really silenced me is knowing that I don't deserve you, Molly. You know how many faults I have, and yet you have always been so good to me."

What he said baffled Molly's mind. She closed her eyes and shook her head against his chest. "_You _don't deserve _me_? Sherlock…you are the son of a lord, a genius in science and detection…I am nothing at all, just a maid and a plain one at tha-"

Her words were stopped by Sherlock's lips as he kissed her a second time, more fiercely than the first time. When they parted, his large hands were gently cradling her face. The look in his eyes was as fierce as their kiss.

"Molly Hooper, I don't give a damn what your class status or type of employment you have. You could be the lowest, filthiest member of my homeless network and that wouldn't change anything! _You _are what I want, no matter what labels you have. And if you are still worried about my family, since I know you care for them, there is no need. My father already believes you are perfect for me, and once she has gotten over her little shock, so will my mother. Both Mary and John are thrilled that I have found someone, Anthea seemed to know before any of them how I felt, and I don't give a damn what my brother thinks. But Molly, even if they disowned me for this, I still wouldn't care and it still wouldn't matter. Only one thing does."

He rested his forehead against hers again, turquoise eyes staring deeply into rich brown eyes. Both pupils were fully dilated.

"_How could I live in a world without you?_"

Molly felt equal parts joyfully hopeful and equal parts terrified. Everything he was telling her now was destroying the doubts she harbored in her mind, but after so many years of unrequited love she was now scared to make that final leap when it was now requited. She closed her eyes to try and calm herself, praying for guidance or a sign for what exactly to do now.

Thankfully, she received it. A soft breeze blew through the garden, and when Molly inhaled, she caught the strong scent of roses. At this, she heard in her heart the voice of her father and what he would always say to her: _Be brave, my girl, and never give up hope._

It was more than enough for Molly, but there was still one more thing that Sherlock needed to do for her to take that leap of faith.

When Molly opened her eyes, they were clear. She could see Sherlock in the light of the moon and stars, how nervous, pleading, and sincere he was. She gave him the tiniest of smiles as she said, "Ask me properly, and from the heart, Sherlock."

The young man let out a shaky exhale, and then dropped to one knee, keeping eye contact with her. He took her right hand and wrapped it around his wrist, making sure she could feel his racing pulse; he did the same for her, and hers was racing as well. Covering her right hand with his left, he did as she asked:

"Molly Rose…I can't remember a time in my life when you were not there, always supporting, always loving, always giving me what I need, always trying to make me happy. I know I could make it on my own, but I don't want to. Whatever time we have, I want us to face it as one, together. I am completely in love with you, and I will tell you that if ever you need to hear it and whenever you don't need to. And if you still, if you really do love me as I am – as impossible as that seems to me – will you please accept me as your husband and become my wife?"

Molly's heart, already overflowing with hope, now soared with joy. Her tiny smile grew into a smile as bright as the sun as she answered. "I can't remember a time when I haven't loved you, Sherlock, and I know now that I always will. _Yes!_"

Sherlock Holmes had never smiled so radiantly. Once her answer came out, he stood up, wrapped his arms around her waist, and joyously spun her around. She laughed with joy right along with him, the toes of her shoes brushing the grass and her hair falling from its bun. Her maid's cap fell to the ground; neither of them noticed.

Once her feet were on the ground again, Sherlock was kissing her, his fingers running through her long hair after so many months of wanting to. Molly returned his kisses, a smile always on her lips. Finally, when both were breathless, they contented themselves with just holding each other in absolute relief and peace, knowing that their nights would never be very black but as beautiful as this one. The only sounds to be heard were the nightingales in the trees, the soft wind blowing through the rose bushes, and the soft words of love the pair were now free to say in whatever time they had left.

Thankfully, it was a good long time, and they would always be together.


End file.
